


Fish Stew

by OneMoreAltmer



Series: Dragon Age: Taniva Tabris [3]
Category: Fish Stew - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMoreAltmer/pseuds/OneMoreAltmer
Summary: In which Zevran's Antivan superstitions win out over everything. Properly fits between "Trovommi Amor" and "Born in Blood."





	Fish Stew

“This isn’t worth Wynne’s time,” she protested again as Zevran walked her up the courtyard steps.  “I feel better today.”

            “Exactly.”

            “What?  Zev, it was just the chowder.  We’re supposed to be on our way back to Amaranthine.”

            “How could it be the chowder?  I am not sick.”

            “Maybe Antivan cuisine just doesn’t agree with me, Zev.”

            He crossed his arms sternly at her.  “Then you would be sick all the time, as often as I cook for you.  And there is only one reason _anyone_ has ever gotten sick over _zuppa di pesce Rialto._ ”

            She stopped moving entirely at the top step.  “Is there nothing about Antiva that doesn’t have a superstition attached to it?”

            “It is a known fact,” he intoned solemnly.  “And there was that dream with the kittens.”

            “Because Shianni was talking about getting a cat.  Zev…”  She cuddled in close to him.  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

            “I am not.  I am making sure you are well enough to travel.”

            It was not really a lie, he assured himself as he led the way through the front half of the palace, and the guards nodded and waved them through as usual, accustomed to visits by this particular pair of elves to some member or other of the royal court.  He _was_ making sure she was well enough to travel.  And he wasn’t really getting his hopes up, yet.  They’d discussed the costs of her Joining at great length, and in the two years since the end of the Blight he had resigned himself to the idea that they might have no children of their own.  She tolerated his occasional whim to re-open the cursed orphanage in the Alienage and staff it with retired whores in good humor.  He hadn’t set about doing it, yet.

            Wynne’s accommodations in the palace were lovely, of course, and he often felt one quick frisson of regret that he and his Warden had not settled into court positions themselves.  It went away quickly:  they would have chafed under such confinement before long, and Taniva had a limited tolerance for the company of human nobles, even now.  Still, it was always nice to spend a little time surrounded by Wynne’s impeccable tastes, her silver baubles and tapestries and bookcases.

            Wynne greeted them cordially as Taniva sat down on the bed.  “Zev made me come,” Taniva announced.  “I was sick to my stomach for a couple of days, but I’m fine now.”

            Wynne nodded, then listened patiently as Zevran listed the ingredients of the Antivan chowder and pointed out that he had eaten it without getting sick.

            “You know what he’s hoping,” Taniva frowned.  She never liked to admit it, but it did bother her to think that the Wardens had taken that option away from her forever.  Enough, at this point, that she avoided even saying the word.

            Wynne looked back and forth between the two of them, full of her usual sympathy from above.  “Well,” she asked Taniva, “does he have any other reasons to think so?  Where are you in your cycle?”

            “Three weeks late,” Zevran answered, and Taniva glared at him.

            “Zevran, I am asking your wife.  Taniva – has there been any bloating or tension there?  May I press on you, gently?”

            Taniva gave a frustrated sigh and consented, and Wynne probed her abdomen with two fingertips.  After a few moments, the mage gave a thoughtful nod, rose, went to a cupboard and pulled out what looked like a lyrium-heavy potion.

            Taniva was fidgeting, impatient to be done.  “What are you doing?”

            “Making myself more sensitive.  I think we would all prefer to be sure.”

            Wynne downed the potion, and now the Warden looked pale.  She was _afraid_ to hear the answer.  Zevran stepped forward to hold her hand, but Wynne shook her head, and he advanced no further.  Wynne returned to Taniva’s side, eyes half-closed, raising a hand to wave it close without touching her.

            And then she sat down and took Taniva’s hand, and just looked at her for a moment, her eyes perhaps – moist.  Zevran bit the inside of his cheek to keep from demanding the information.

            “The next two months will be very important,” Wynne said softly.  “I can give you some potions to help it _stick_ , as it were – ”

            “Help what stick?” Taniva asked, her eyes round.  In denial, as was confirmed by the next thing she managed to say.  “They told me it would be impossible.”

            Wynne smiled and patted her on the knee.  “Not impossible, Taniva.  _Unlikely._   It is not quite the same thing, as you of all people should know.”

            It was an indescribable feeling – pleasant electricity.  Sexless orgasm.  Something like that.  He dropped to his knees and clutched his bewildered love tight, grinning almost enough to hurt and fighting the urge to laugh.  Her arms wandered up around his waist, tentative.  “Another Arainai,” she whispered, with the little giggle that usually meant she was overwhelmed.  “Maker, what have we done?”  He brushed his cheek against hers, and found it moist.

            “Now,” Wynne said, and even her voice was faintly emotional.  “Now listen, both of you.  This is important.  Getting even this far as a Warden is a blessing, but for these first months especially, I want caution.  So – ”

            “Right,” Zevran declared firmly.  “So we will stay home.  The Wardens will do without you.”

            “Zev, they won’t.  We’re expected in Amaranthine already.  And they do have healers there, you know.”

            “Not quite that much caution,” Wynne smiled.  “But do try to confine yourself to a more… supervisory role for a while.  Let Zevran do most of the fighting and lifting.”

            He nodded.  “I will do _all_ the fighting, and the recruits can do the lifting.  I hate lifting.”  He kissed the dampness off of Taniva’s cheeks and beamed at her.  “And I will make cookies for you before we go.  Sweets for a girl, you know.”

            Wynne raised her eyebrows.  “Zevran, the child has already been conceived.  That means you can’t – ”

            “Why doesn’t anyone in Ferelden know anything?  Antivans have known this for hundreds of years!  _Sweets_ for a _girl._ ”

            “Don’t argue with him,” Taniva sighed.  “It’s pointless.”  She turned and rubbed the back of his neck with an affectionate smile.  “Will they have chocolate in?”

            “Pounds of it,” he promised.


End file.
